


Worth It

by DulcetAsh



Category: Leverage
Genre: Multi, OT3, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 19:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12660174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DulcetAsh/pseuds/DulcetAsh
Summary: Eliot is touched.  Touched in the head, maybe.





	Worth It

Eliot's arms were beginning to ache. After 15 solid minutes of pounding the heavy bag, his fists were already numb, but the punishment he was dishing out was beginning to sneak back up along his triceps, ready to kick at old injuries to the shoulder. Once, he would have ignored the pain, secure in the belief that nothing could really touch him. Once, he'd had careless faith that no matter the situation, his body would either heal itself quickly or die, and that carelessness had extended to complete indifference as to which outcome prevailed. 

He was older now. He had learned a few things. He was grappling with the new truth that his body no longer healed quickly, that some injuries may never heal completely. It was a glum realization, but it was nothing to the more frightening knowledge that many things could touch him now. 

"Dammit, Parker," he whispered as he slowed his jabs, matching his breathing to the decelerating sway of the bag. She had touched him first, poking bruises, playing with his hair, using his steady bulk like gymnastic equipment for her acrobatic whims. Her oddities gave her impulses a strange purity; watching the joy she took in her thrill-seeking antics reminded him that joy was out there to be taken. He got used to her touching his body, which made it too easy to allow her liberties with his heart. How could he keep her out of it, while watching her try so hard and so earnestly to understand how neurotypicals felt, why people behaved as they did, how or if she could ever fit in? So he took a leaf from Sophie's patient teachings, from Hardison's faithful assurances, and he reached out to her with his food, rewarded beyond measure when it finally clicked for her.

Touch.

When a thief touches you, you've lost something, whether you realize it at first or not. Eliot lost his indifference that day, though he stubbornly clung to the illusion of it, telling his ransacked heart to seal itself back up or get used to being emptied on the regular. Not for the world would he interfere with what Hardison had so carefully built between himself and Parker.

But his heart wouldn't close, in this aging body that no longer healed quickly. It wouldn't close, but strangely, it didn't feel empty. Parker would beg him to cook. Hardison would pester him to play. The two men would shoot zombies and race spaceships and build strongholds until 3:00 in the morning, shouting and jostling each other on the couch with game controllers in hand, Hardison talking smack and cackling with glee until Eliot's perpetual glower could no longer contain an answering grin. Whenever it happened, when the grin broke through, Hardison would clap him on the shoulder, his hand sometimes lingering absently to rub and soothe at old hurts.

Touch.

They wouldn't leave him alone. They wouldn't let him brood. They piled on him like puppies and ate the heart-offerings that he cooked. Hardison created endless opportunities for joy. Parker demonstrated how to take them, leading him by example, leading him to sweet madness, leading him into their bedroom.

Touch.

And fill.

And love.

The heavy bag was still, now, and his breathing was calm, but his heart stuttered a little with each twinge as feeling returned to his battered hands. Many things could touch him, but he'd be damned if he'd ever let anything touch _them_ with ill intent. The limitations of his body frightened him all the more since the limitations of his heart had been hacked and plundered.

It was worth it.


End file.
